


In A Sepulchre There by the Sea

by MeriKG



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 23:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriKG/pseuds/MeriKG
Summary: Dean's plan to bury himself alive in the ocean inside his spiffy magic coffin wasn't winning him any awards with, well, anyone.  Just as well Sam punched some sense into him.  But there's another fence that still needs mending.  And Castiel isn't about to let it go.  Takes place when everyone got back the bunker after fixing Donatello.  Pretty much straight up smut.





	In A Sepulchre There by the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I have no beta. Any and all typos or mistakes are mine and mine alone. Apologies.

The knock on Dean’s door was soft enough that he wasn’t sure he heard it, at first. But then his door swung open and Castiel poked his head in with a hesitant “Dean?”

Dean hastily stood up from where he’d been lounging across his bed, his tone deliberately nonchalant. “Hey, Cas. What’s up?” 

Dean knew exactly what was up. He’d known since he got back that there was no of avoiding this particular conversation. That didn't mean he was particularly looking forward to it. Dean watched warily as the angel closed the door behind him with exaggerated care.

Cas stood in the center of the room, staring levelly at the hunter, his eyes so blue they nearly glowed. Yet, anyway. They weren’t glowing yet. Dean fully expected to get a full dose of the Angelic Headlight effect before they were done.

“So, that was it? No discussion? Not even a good bye? Nothing. After all we’ve been through together, is that what I deserve?” The angel demanded.

“Cas…”

“No. You don’t get to talk yet. You had all the time in the world to talk before you disappeared to make that…thing. It’s my turn, now.” 

Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas' tone, the all-to-familiar stubborn shield sliding into place behind his eyes. It was a look that never failed to piss Castiel the hell off. Today was no exception. 

Throughout the years, Cas had had to fight the very real and disturbingly frequent urge to smack that particular expression off his Hunter’s gorgeous face. He had actually done so, in fact, and more than once. A quick flash of shame directly followed that impulse, as it always did when he thought about the many times he’d beaten Dean senseless. The unwelcome memories of the feel of the bones in Dean’s face crushed to a sticky paste beneath his fist caused him to clench his hands. 

Usually, there was a legitimate excuse for his actions. A spell, angelic brainwashing, name it. It was only when Dean gave up, like when he first planned on giving in to Michael all those years ago, that Cas lashed out with violence for no other reason than his own grief and rage. Dean understood that kind of rage, and the violence it begat. And he was always quick to forgive, far too easily in Cas’ opinion. But then, that was Dean. 

The man could forgive damn near anything done to him, but God above help the fool who dared hurt anyone he cared about. Cas was still surprised Dean had forgiven him for breaking Sam’s mind. He probably never would have, if Castiel hadn’t sacrificed his own sanity to undo the damage he’d wrought. Dean understood sacrifice, too. 

But there was no need to use violence with Dean these days. No, Castiel had found a much more effective, and admittedly far more satisfying, way to deal with his stubborn hunter.

Castiel deliberately worked the battered fabric of his tie loose until hit hung untied on either side of his neck. It's presence didn't bother him, but he knew Dean liked the look on him, and he'd need any edge he could get. He slid off the old, battered trench coat that was as much a part of his identity as his vessel’s blue eyes, and threw the heavy jacket onto the bed. The whole time he kept his gaze locked on Dean, watching the hunter’s expression go from the familial aggressive/defensive to blank, then to wary. Because there were a few different ways this could go.

Castiel was very aware that Dean half expected to get punched in the face. And he’d allow it, because he thought he deserved it. He wouldn’t fight back. Dean also knew, once Cas had finished expelling his rage and hurt, he’d heal Dean back to better than new. This was why a lifetime hunter like he or Sam didn’t have physical scars, or arthritis, didn’t ever get the flu or appendicitis. Because every time Castiel healed them, he left them better than new. And Cas had healed them a lot over their years fighting together. The common cold didn’t stand a chance.

Cas stepped up to Dean, who backed away from the angel until his back hit the wall. Exactly where Cas wanted him. Finished with the tie, Castiel began working on his shirt, watching as Dean's wary was supplanted by understanding. He’d hit denial in 4-3-2-…

“Cas, no. We agreed not to do this any more.”

“No. You talked. I listened. And because what you said was stupid, I chose to ignore it.” 

Castiel moved until they were chest-to-chest, and leaned up just enough to claim the hunter’s lips in a possessive kiss. Dean kissed back, of course. He always did. He could be midway through an argument about why they weren’t doing this (again) or spitting angry with Cas, but he always kissed back. 

Castiel slid his right hand behind Dean’s head, pulling him in and holding him there, sliding his tongue past the perfect lips that parted for him in welcome. Castiel had kissed other humans, angels, even one very special demon, but no one ever matched his hunter for sheer skill. No other tasted quite like Dean. 

He used his remaining hand to work the buttons of Dean’s shirt, choosing to break each one rather than go through the trouble of sliding them through the little eyelet. He was still so angry. Ruining Dean’s shirt was the least of his concerns. The outer shirt open, he slid his hand to Dean’s waist and under the material of his plain white tee, up his chest to rub a thumb against one sensitive nipple. He willed a spark of angel grace to pulse from his fingertips, the faint blue glowing under the thin material. Dean jumped as the sharp kiss of Divine electricity shocked his sensitive bud. Dean always complained that it hurt like a bitch whenever Cas did that, but despite his words it never failed to make him rock-hard in seconds. 

True to form, Dean surged forward, briefly claiming control of the kiss. “Fuck Cas. Be careful. You how bad it stings when you pull that shit,” he murmured lips dancing around Cas’.

“Accident,” Cas replied, as he always did, opening his mouth for Dean’s probing tongue. Dean chuckled. 

Enough of this. Cas needed more from the hunter then a few kisses. He’d almost lost him, and in the worst possible way. He wouldn’t even have the peace of knowing Dean was in heaven, something he’d counted on in the past when he’d thought his friend and lover gone from the world. 

Cas slid to his knees in a smooth, elegant motion. Dean started talking the moment his tongue was freed; still denying, still trying to explain why this was a bad idea. But his body was fully on board, at attention and ready. Castiel put a hand on Dean’s cock, firmly massaging through the denim. Dean’s words became gargled, devolving to a low, throaty groan. Got him. 

“Cas,” he growled in warning.

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas muttered. “I’m busy.” Cas unzipped the jeans, sliding both denim and underwear to Dean’s knees. He wasted no time getting his mouth around Dean’s cock, moving faster than he'd prefer in an effort to keep Dean off guard and out of his head. 

Cas was very good at this. Of course he was, he’d learned from an excellent teacher. A man who made satisfying his lover the most pivotal part of any sexual encounter. It was little wonder the women Dean took to bed (or car) always considered him an ideal bedmate. 

Dean never talked about prior experience with male partners, though Castiel was aware he wasn’t Dean’s first. He didn’t understand the hesitation; shy or reticent wasn’t really a part of Dean’s personality. And the hunter had been well versed in sucking cock long before the first time he'd gone to his knees in front Cas, shoved his coat aside and taught the angel the true definition of pleasure. 

Dean wasn’t talking now, wasn’t protesting. Dean’s hands were firmly pressed against he wall. His head was thrown back, eyes closed as he panted softly, losing himself in the sensation. He was so beautiful like this, Castiel was tempted to prolong the experience, but no, he had an agenda. 

Cas moved with purpose, his goal to get the hunter to the proverbial finish line fast and hard. A very careful angel spark from his tongue worked along Dean’s length and he jerked, his intense orgasm almost taking him by surprise.

Castiel wasted no time; he rose back to his feet, and pulled off Dean’s shirt. He didn’t have much time before the orgasm-muddled brain cells came back on line. He guided the sated hunter to the bed, positioning him on his belly. Dean hadn’t been wearing shoes, and Cas was able to pull the denim completely off one leg. He swiftly began unbuckling his own pants.

“Cas, wait, buddy,” Dean muttered, becoming sufficiently aware to realize what position he was in. 

Fuck. A flick of angel power and Cas’ banished his pants entirely. He’d figure out where they’d gone later. He reached for Dean’s freed leg and positioned the knee bent on the mattress and laid his full body weight over the other man's body. He firmly slid one finger, angelically slick, inside the hunter. Dean bucked at the unexpected sensation, groaning. 

“We can’t do this,” Dean growled, struggling hard to get out from under Cas’ grip even as his hips thrust back to meet the angel’s dexterous fingers.

Cas rode out the buck and applied his strength to keep Dean flat on the bed.

“Yes, Dean. We are doing this. Because you almost left me. Condemning me to a lifetime of knowing you were in your own private hell, somewhere where I couldn’t find you. And you didn’t even talk with me. You couldn’t be bothered to say good-bye. So you will give me this, now. You owe me, Dean.” 

He slid a second finger in, speeding his motions. It was too much, too soon, but Dean could handle it. 

“Cas,” Dean muttered, his body shuddering below Cas' own. He stopped fighting, giving in to the Angel’s demanding hands on his body. “Please.”

Castiel froze, now three fingers deep, going completely still. That particular word was rarely spoken between them. It meant something. “Please stop, or please more, Dean? Decide.”

This was exactly why he’d moved so fast. Getting Dean to accept what they both wanted was, for reasons Cas didn’t truly understand, a daunting task. Now was the moment where he found out if he’d succeeded in getting them there, past whatever ghosts plagued the hunter’s mind, or whether they both stopped, frustrated and unsatisfied. He’d experienced both outcomes enough times in the past to know it could go either way.

When Dean didn’t answer, Cas lifted his body weight up, pulling away. At least he’d gotten to taste Dean, feel the hunter’s pleasure as he writhed for him. It would have to be enough.

He slowly, gently drew his hand out from the Hunter’s heat. Dean surged under him, gripping his wrist to halt the motion. Propping himself up on his other forearm, the he looked back at Cas with blown pupils big and dark in his fan-fiction-green eyes. 

“More,” he ordered, no trace of doubt, or more worriedly, shame in his face now. “Don’t stop.”

It was the magic words, but Cas had to be sure. “You don’t owe me anything. I shouldn’t have said that. If you don’t want…”

“Castiel,” Dean said clearly, his gruff voice commanding. “I am hard as mahogany, and you’ve had three fingers repeatedly ramming my go button. If you don’t fuck me right now, so help me…”

Cas smiled, the expression lighting up his beautiful face. Dean grinned back, a feral challenge that was more teeth than grin. He released Cas’ wrist and twisted back to rest on his forearms on the bed.

Cas slid his fingers out and immediately slid the full length of his cock into his lover. Whatever issues Jimmy Novak and his wife had during their marriage, sexual satisfaction was unlikely to have been one of them. His vessel was more then adequately proportioned. Though Castiel had noticed the last time he’d been rebuilt, that he seemed to have been made even larger between the legs. He’d wondered at the time why his heavenly Father had bothered making an angel so well endowed. 

Once he’d gotten a solid rhythm, Cas moved his arms from either side to grip the hunter’s wrists, pulling him off his forearms and firmly pressing his chest flat on the bed, holding Dean in place and began doing his very best to pound him ‘through the mattress’, as humans called it.

Dean fought back against the rough onslaught, plying all his strength against the angel’s, to no avail. He’d admitted to Cas in the past that the angel was the only man Dean had ever been with that had the sheer physical strength to hold him down during sex. And he’d had no trouble admitting to Cas that he liked it. A lot. 

Dean’s struggling against Cas’ iron grip elicited the desired effect; Cas squeezed tighter, his movement’s becoming rougher. Exactly the way the hunter wanted it. The way Dean’s hips bucked powerfully against his, and his groan’s of pleasure, interposed with grunted demands for more, spurred him on to even greater lengths.

Castiel was an angel. He had perfect control of his vessel at all times, and had absolute control of when it would orgasm. Technically, he could continue at this pace for hours, days even, pouring all his grief and rage into the hunter’s willing body. 

Which was why it took Cas completely by surprise when Dean’s orgasm tore through his own self-control, causing him to erupt into the other man, draining Cas into an endorphin-induced haze of divine exhaustion.

Dean panted below him, sweat slicked and sated. Cas released his lover’s wrists, healing the spattering of small, fingertip sized bruises. As for the inner soreness, he let that be, knowing his lover enjoyed the lingering sensation of being marked. Cas slid his hand along the length of silky, heated muscle and graceful curve of Dean’s lower back in an act of pure hedonism. Dean was truly one of the most beautiful of all God’s creations. For him, Castiel, one of the mightiest fighters in Heaven’s garrison, had irrevocably fallen.

"I'm sorry, Cas." Quiet words, but heartfelt. "I shouldn't have left like that. You're right; I owed you more." 

Cas sighed, wrapping his physical arms around his sated lover's body, his kinetic wings mirroring the tight hold. If only he could hold him like this forever, shield him from the demands of the world. But that would never be Dean's way. Dean was a fighter, a man capable of imprisoning an Archangel through sheer grit and stubborn determination. He would never allow Cas to hide him from a world, a family, that needed him. 

"I forgive you. Never fucking do it again," Cas told his lover firmly, kissing the sensitive spot at the base of Dean's neck.

"I promise," Dean swore, and Cas knew it to be a vow. Choosing to forget that Dean was perfectly willing to lie when he needed to, he took the oath into his heart and held it close. 

Dean opened hazy green eyes and met his gaze, smiling and peaceful, before sliding into much needed sleep. Trusting his angel to watch over him. And Castiel fell all over again.


End file.
